From The Palm They Bloom
by RainieBird
Summary: The soil of the Dark Kingdom bears nothing beautiful. But the hearts of humans, even under the blinding smog of Metalia's dark influence, are quite a different story. [Kunzite\Zoisite]


Disclaimer: BISHOUJO SENSHI SAILOR MOON and all of the respectable characters and references used in this work are the property of Naoko Takeuchi\Toei Animation. I do NOT, and will NEVER claim to, own any part of BISHOUJO SENSHI SAILOR MOON.

* * *

With a satisfied smile, Zoisite examined the newest addition to his plan: the tiny packet of flower seeds may as well have sparkled. To him, its contents were jewels.

Of course, he had the Earth Realm to thank.

Zoisite, fourth of Queen Beryl's Four Kings of Heaven, found it excessively unfair that the Earth Realm- home of ingrateful mortals and dumb animals as he saw it- was blessed with all the beauty nature had to offer; the Dark Kingdom's natural wonders were harsh and hideous- dingy vines, monstrous corpse flowers, gnarled trees with gray bark- and did nothing to help the dreary landscapes.

Zoisite hated the ragged harshness of the Dark Kingdom. He'd made a vow to do something about it. After all, what right did the greedy Earth Realm have, hogging all the colorful natural beauty?

So for quite some time now he had been collecting seeds and visiting botanical gardens in the Earth Realm, and reading books on gardening in hopes of painting his thumb green enough to actually make some desirable plant life grow in the gritty, gray soil of the Dark Kingdom. He had decided to start small, just at least grow a garden of his very own before sticking flowers wherever in the Dark Kingdom he pleased.

His plot, however, could not very well be easily executed. It wasn't as though he had bucket loads of time on his hands; he was a servant of the queen, after all, constantly having to be on his toes and dive into whatever mission - lame, routine missions that could just as well be done by a lowly youma and reqiured none of Zoisite's skill or talent- Queen Beryl assigned to him.

As Zoisite examined the tiny seed packet, he scowled to himself. Just thinking about how unfairly Queen Beryl treated him made him want to throw a fit. She never let him do anything important, anything that would really put the Dark Kingdom on the road to their goal. She always used Jadeite: third King of Heaven, or Nephrite: second King of Heaven.

But despite how degrading they were, Zoisite's missions could be finished up quickly and, after reporting to Beryl, he was free to scurry off to his secret garden.

And on days he didn't have missions, he had lessons. Magic skill lessons. Because while he was one of Beryl's Kings, his magic skill was just a bit under level; he still had trouble adopting technique when it came to higher level spells; the more powerful it was, the less control he had over it.

He was taught under Kunzite- the first King of Heaven and easily the strongest. Zoisite was a very attentive pupil, partly because he wanted to do anything and everything to better his skills in hopes of becoming a soldier Beryl would trust, and partly because he actually enjoyed the lessons. He was learning useful techniques and effective tricks for mastering control.

Zoisite always felt supremely proud of himself when he learned something new quickly and impressed Kunzite. Those were almost the only times he ever felt useful- Zoisite was insecure like that, though he would never admit it. Even to himself.

And there was something else: He found that he had a passionate, confusing thirst to make Kunzite proud of him whenever given a chance. It was frightening that the thirst was more powerful, more important, than his desire for Beryl to be proud of him. With her, it was more about proving himself, convincing her that she was wrong about him. But with Kunzite, he wished only to please him. He didn't understand it at all, where it came from, why it was so irrational, but he couldn't control it. He could try with all his might to ignore it, but it was persistent. It frightened him.

The young man tore open the packet and gently pushed the seeds into the thin, doubtful soil, hoping that this time, his flowers would be given life and sprout up into the shadowy world above ground.

As he tended to the new seeds, Zoisite couldn't help looking around at all his previous attempts uneasily. Some had sprouted, but were a sickly green and shriveled. It was disturbing, but at least one set of seeds had sprouted up healthy. Sure, the little green plant had maintained the same tiny status for weeks now, but it still looked healthy...if just a bit wilted.

Zoisite's greatest concern was that the flowers absolutely needed sunlight, something the Dark Kingdom didn't - never would - produce. Yes, he knew flowers benefitted from sunlight, but he also knew that some plants could grow under artificial light- which would be impossible to use outdoors.

Luckily, the Dark Kingdom produced a very unique plant, the tadbulb, named for its resemblance to a tadpole. It was of pink hue, its spherical top translucent, and produced a glow from the inside. Thus, tadbulbs were the most common light source in the Dark Kingdom.

But for Zoisite's purpose, tadbulbs were too dim, so he had experimented and mastered a way to use his own powers, a simple defensive light spell intended to stun enemies, to enhance the tadbulbs' glow; luckily, they contained it for at least a day. Zoisite's garden was bordered with tadbulbs, ablaze with light in varying degrees, and altogether giving a look of pink-tinted, illusionary daylight to the confined garden- Zoisite could only hope it was enough.

Though he was doubtful sometimes, he was also stubborn and refused to lose hope: he would make flowers bloom in the Dark Kingdom if it was his final act in life- even without any sunlight.

He stood, breathed a drawn out sigh, blew the new seeds a kiss for luck, and teleported in a blizzard of pink petals, his trademark.

* * *

Zoisite materialized just outside of Kunzite's residence, a castle the first King shared with him since they became instructer and pupil. He checked his hands and uniform to confirm the absence of any dirt traces before going inside. He would be a bit too embarrassed to explain his sacred dream to Kunzite, who would undoubtedly inquire if his student was speckled with dirt.

Inside, Zoisite lit the lamps in the opening hall via magic. The glow of them lit the hall meagerly, illuminating the blue-gray surroundings just enough to see. He was greeted with a quick bow from a servant youma scuttling around with a duster. The young man brushed by the occupied creature and sauntered up the grand staircase just off the opening hall. The dimly lit and familiar stony regality of Kunzite's castle comforted Zoisite; he always felt safe here at home.

Before he reached the top of the staircase, a descending tall figure stopped on the step above.

"Kunzite," Zoisite acknowledged, looking up at the first King with a fleeting smile. Here was the one person in his life that he purely, sincerely, admired.

Kunzite, whose demeanor was as stony and regal as his castle, did not return the smile, but nodded once in greeting.

"Your mission today? Did you fare well, Zoisite?," he asked calmly, voice deep and rich, but threaded with a ribbon of soft undertone that provided gracefulness as well.

"Always, Kunzite," Zoisite replied. He could not help scoffing and adding: "Though you must wonder how I come out of those missions alive, huh?" He then felt ashamed for being sarcastic to the man that was his instructor, though the first King never enforced his teacher status outside of the training room- and for that matter, Zoisite was always so respectful that Kunzite never had to enforce his status _during_ training either: Zoisite had taken it upon himself to call the first King 'Instructor Kunzite' when attending lessons.

Kunzite slightly smirked. "Do not question Her Majesty's choices, Zoisite," he advised, seeing right through his pupil.

"Yes, sir. Sorry," murmured Zoisite, folding his arms across his middle in an insecure gesture. Kunzite said nothing more and breezed past his pupil, who found himself breathing in the handsome, familiar scent of the first King as he walked past: a cold, fresh aroma, like the wind during rainfall accented with a ghostly hint of some flower- maybe jasmine? Kunzite always carried that fragrance, elegantly subtle, and so suited to him with its mystical coolness. It was another soothing reminder of home for Zoisite.

The young man continued on through a dim corridor to his quarters. Once inside, he closed the door and leaned back against it, staring around at his dark bedroom with straying thoughts in his head before activating the lights. He went over to his bed, picked up the gardening book and lay across the mattress on his stomach, opening the book to a chapter on nutrients. With all he had learned about them so far, they seemed to be an essential asset to the future of his garden, especially without any sunlight around.

As he read, all was silent. Had he not known otherwise, he would've believed himself to be alone in the castle.

He frequently found himself thinking this within the walls of his instructor's cavernous fortress. Usually, Kunzite barely payed him any mind aside from the daily lessons, or he left home to attend to business at the Dark Kingdom headquarters, leaving with only mindless youma for company.

Zoisite did not mind being on his own. After all, he did need to work on his garden; Kunzite's lack of attention was quite convenient. But there were just some times, particular times, when the young man actually did mind his solitary lifestyle. He hated to admit being lonely, but he was young and temperamental and couldn't help it. On rough days, when he was feeling particularly low about his status with Queen Beryl or had been scathed by Nephrite's smugness and haughty insults, he found himself wishing someone would be there to talk to, and keep him company.

He wished Kunzite were more friendly, more open, just at least talk with him comfortably every so often. He knew that the first King would prove a very interesting fellow if he would only shed his all-business persona and let somebody reach him.

To be honest, Zoisite knew that it wasn't just a random companionship with anybody willing that he wanted. Though he yearned for another soul to sit beside him when he was lonesome, it was quite a challenge for Zoisite to get along with, much less befriend, other people. The only person he knew that he liked in any way was Kunzite, and it was also him whose companionship Zoisite longed for.

Only him- whose eyes were like angular ponds reflecting a silver, mysterious, full moon. His snowdrop-white hair streamed to below his shoulder blades, and payed a breathtaking compliment to the burnt-caramel of his skin...(Zoisite wished he weren't guilty of making such in-depth observations.)

As much as the fourth King wished to befriend him, to truly know him, Kunzite was like a book bound with a strip of steel that would have to be cast off before the contents could be read, enjoyed...cherished.

 _Kunzite..What would you say, if I told you about this? Surely, you want only to be my instructor. Surely I'm hardly more than just another task to you, given by our queen to complete. Maybe I'm even a burden. If you got to know me better, would you like me much?...Sometimes_ I _don't_ _like me much; I wouldn't mind if you didn't either. At least, I like to imagine I wouldn't. Not that it matters, anyway, if I did mind; you would never know. Hmm..It's so silly, but when I think of you this way, my throat hurts. I hurt somewhere else, too...deep inside, when I think about you like this, about never being anything more to you than just a task to be completed. I wish I didn't care._

 _Do you know what's scary?: If it weren't you, Kunzite, I wouldn't care..._

Zoisite had set the gardening book aside long ago. He curled into a tight ball, clutching a pillow to his slender chest, suddenly desperate to take a nap and just flit around in meaningless dreams. To escape, for just a while. He sighed with deep meaning, and sank into slumber with the weight of his deep thoughts still present in his confused mind, but temporarily hushed by sleepy colors.

* * *

"That is all, Zoisite. Be on your way."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Zoisite replied silkily, a calm smile on his lips. He bowed and took his leave in a billowing floral wind.

The very moment he was alone, he stamped his foot in a fit of boiling frustration, creating an echoey clap as boot met stone. "This has to be the most worthless mission yet!," he snarled. Another stamp of his high-heeled boot. He crossed his arms tightly across his chest and forced himself not to voice his frustration again, lest he speak very poorly of Queen Beryl and be overheard. But who did she think she was, giving him, a perfectly capable and skilled soldier, missions that could just as well not be done at all without anyone noticing?

Why should he have to carry out such idiotic orders? Last week he was told to "make sure Jadeite's description of the area to be used for energy gathering is accurate and of use to the Dark Kingdom." What did that even _mean?_ Did Queen Beryl think those clueless Earthlings had set up some sort of illusional environment?

Sometimes Zoisite wondered if Queen Beryl only sent him out just to experience the delight of giving someone orders.

"I should be respected just a bit, shouldn't I?" he mumbled almost inaudibly, scowling.

As he departed to the Earth Realm to carry out his latest order of time-wasting - "estimate the amount of humans present in the area we'll be gathering energy from tomorrow"- he saw no bright side to the situation at all, until the gardening book came to mind: Nutrients! Why, now he wished he'd remembered sooner and spared the stone floor a whack of his boot. The young man stood up straighter and prickled with newfound excitement instead of a fury-fever. At least the pointless mission presented a perfect opportunity to hunt down exactly what he believed would help his flowers finally bloom.

The mission didn't take long at all, as expected, and Zoisite, guised in civilian wear, now strolled among the Tokyo crowds nibbling his thumb nail thoughtfully as he considered his options for nutrient shopping.

By way of asking people, Zoisite managed to find a flower shop without wasting hours of time, at least. People seemed eager to help him, too, which he noted delightedly: It could only be his beauty at work.

The flower shop was small and inviting. Zoisite quickly got to work asking about the specific nutrients he required and was disappointed to hear the answer: "Sorry, sir, we don't carry that particular formula." He gave quick thanks and hurried out, chewing again on his thumb nail and pacing on the sidewalk. "Now what?" he asked himself. There had to be somewhere else...

Hours later, Zoisite had visited four other plausible places and still had no nutrients. He was anxious and frustrated and terribly hungry. Hopelessness had begun to nudge him when, in the dazzling glint of the sun, Zoisite stumbled upon an overlooked treasure: a garden supply store conjoined with another shop, modest and unnoticable. The young man soared in without hesitation, his heart bubbling with hope.

"At last!" hollered Zoisite, as soon as he left the store. He hugged the bottle of the coveted nutrients to his chest and scampered into an alley where he could be alone and safely return to the Dark Kingdom without any witnesses.

Immediately, the young man hurried to his hidden garden. His heart was fluttering nervously as he applied the nutrients to the new seeds. If this didn't help them, nothing would.

"They have to work!" he exclaimed to himself. He hated to think of the alternitive.

He stood staring at the shadowy, undeveloped garden before a cold realization slapped him out of his thoughtful trance: Queen Beryl! He hadn't reported after the mission!

"Ayahhh! How long has it been?!" he hollered as quietly as he could. "She'll kill me..!" He left for the Dark Kingdom headquarters in a petal-swarmed hurry.

* * *

"I would be most pleased, Zoisite, if you would take a bit of your precious time to report to me immediately after your missions end." Queen Beryl's sarcastic hiss scratched at Zoisite's eardrums as he bowed before her, cringing at the scolding.

"I ask your forgiveness, my queen," said Zoisite, his voice clear and blank. He couldn't make himself truly mean an apology.

"It won't happen again...unless you desire to be stripped of your rank", said Beryl, vicious eyes narrowing.

"Of course not." _Ha! As though my rank as the Fourth King is such a privilege!_

"You're dismissed. We should not ever have to repeat this conversation."

"Yes. We won't, my Queen..."

His face burning with embarrassment and frustration, Zoisite left the throne room and returned to Kunzite's castle. With a sigh, he leaned against the cold wall of a corridor and tried to calm himself.

He absolutely hated to be scolded by Queen Beryl. Each time it happened was a reminder of how little she seemed to trust him. Not that he desired her trust for any reason other than being even with Nephrite and then surpassing him.

He sighed again.

"You should be careful."

The boy's eyes flew open at once.

"Kunzite! I-I didn't hear you approach!" He straightened himself, absently reaching up to twirl a curl around his finger. "What do you mean?" he asked, quietly.

"Don't test our queen's patience, in short," replied Kunzite. "She won't hesitate to be rid of you if you continue to come off as nothing but a slacker."

So he'd heard the scolding.

Zoisite laughed quietly, mirthlessly. "I take it being rid of me doesn't mean she'll send me to boarding school?"

Kunzite smirked, an expression that seemed to surpress a laugh. But Zoisite saw subtle amusement in his eyes, though only for a second before they lost all traces of humor and became penetrating.

"Be serious, Zoisite, and tell me you'll mind what I've said." His pale eyes held Zoisite's with an intensity akin to sun glare.

Zoisite's breath suddenly felt constricted. He felt nothing but the eyes of Kunzite, piercing deep into his own- glowing moonlight plunging down through forest treetops.

 _I feel..as though he can see right into me...my soul.._

The young man gathered himself, nodded mechanically. "...I understand, Instructor Kunzite. I will be careful as you have asked." He couldn't tear his eyes away. He never wanted to.

But soft brown eyelids covered the pale intensity and broke the precious connection as Kunzite solemnly accepted his student's vow. When his eyes reopened, they were back to their usual calm.

"Good." He was gone in a burst of bright energy.

Zoisite took a deep breath as though he'd been holding it. He felt his face prickling with heat, his legs trembled slightly. He went to his room briskly and unintentionally slammed the door behind him. He stumbled over to his vanity and peered into the mirror: A red-cheeked, panting Zoisite with eyes like an awed child stared back at him. His own face surprised him; something unfamiliar had awakened in his eyes.

"..Hm.." He gave himself a long, searching look, but soon his own expression made him uneasy and he turned away.

The young man stood there a moment in silence, leaning back on the vanity. He suddenly burst into a fit of giggles, the moment with Kunzite still clear in his mind as though it were happening over and over. He fell onto his bed, the giggling impossible to contain. It was remarkable, how weightless he felt. And such warmth! Washing all over him like a soothing balm.

When his giggles subsided, he rolled onto his side, smiling. He held his pillow tightly in his arms. Everything he worried, stressed, _griped_ about was so suddenly stifled under a soft quilt of contentment, a kind of which he had never felt the likes of, but welcomed wholeheartedly.

* * *

Weeks passed. Zoisite had tended meticulously to his garden, never missing a day and applying several other nutrients until the week of judgement, this being the final week in which Zoisite would know whether the seeds would sprout or forever reside in the ground as unborn flowers.

Those several weeks had been ripe and juicy with anxiety, and there were multiple nights in which Zoisite had paced around his room, unable to sleep and just trying not to think.

His mind couldn't be kept off the garden in those weeks. It gnawed at him endlessly, to the point of it being visible, despite his best efforts at normalcy: Kunzite had taken notice.

"No. Stop," Kunzite commanded. Zoisite obeyed, chewing nervously at his thumb nail as he prepared to hear what exactly he was doing wrong. They had been over the same fire-based spell eleven times now; Zoisite usually understood the basis, the proper "ingredients" of a spell without his instructor having to explain and demonstrate more than twice.

Kunzite's eyes grazed over his young students face with an investigative eye. "Do you realize, Zoisite, how many times I have explained this?" There was no impatience in his cool voice. No sarcasm. It was an honest question; an answer was a requirement.

"Mm-hm. I do," Zoisite answered, cringing. "I'm sorry."

Kunzite eyed him silently for several excruciating seconds, as though summing up the plausibility of carefully reasoned theories as to what had become of his bright student.

"You aren't yourself." Kunzite spoke bluntly. "You haven't been for quite a while." He paused. "And I don't just mean this incident. You have been seeming distracted. Troubled."

 _He noticed?_ Zoisite folded his arms across his slight middle, eyes instinctively cast down. He knew he should have been able to lock up his troubles and put on a normal, focused, front for at least as long as his lessons lasted. But as ashamed as he was feeling, no amount of the lousy feeling could muffle the tentative, pleasant surprise he felt when he heard Kunzite's accurate observation, a confirmation that the man at least took his student's state of mind into account, for all that he otherwise ignored him.

Kunzite suddenly came closer. "Do you plan on telling me why?"

His voice made Zoisite look up at his instructor's face: why was he speaking so quietly..?

The young man could detect no readable emotion on Kunzite's face, save for slight expectance.

He knew, again, that he had to answer. "Instructor Kunzite, please forgive me, but I need to keep this to myself. It isn't that I don't trust you, but it's private." He quickly added, "I don't mean to be disrespectful! Or put my petty problems before my lessons. That's not it at all! I-"

"I'm not angry with you."

Zoisite froze. But it wasn't the words that struck him.

Kunzite never had treated Zoisite the same as others, which the latter noticed early on, even before he was the man's student, and had always wondered about it. Kunzite was very cold and indifferent toward his subordinates; also the other two Kings, whom he sometimes taunted. With Zoisite, particularly at lesson time, the First King was far from taunts and icy glances; he taught with patience, guidance, and mildness. Praising his student was not beneath him, either.

But even so, Zoisite had never heard Kunzite -not even at any past lesson time- speak with the sincere gentleness that had just been in his voice.

It was that moment that brought a threatening lump to Zoisite's throat. There was something about the shock of that gentle reassurance coming from nowhere and reaching out to him when he was so weighted by anxiety and sleeplessness that made his body react against his will and instead react out of exhaustion. And gratitude, more so.

 _No! Not in front of him! What would he think of you? Grow up, you stupid, childish_ idiot! _Control yourself for once!_

The young man stared down at nothing, inflicting harsh words on himself while desperately trying to push the lump back down his throat.

"...Shouldn't you be?" Zoisite immediately wanted to strike himself for allowing that to escape, knowing how foolish he sounded while also accepting that he was thoroughly flustered.

"I won't tolerate you being so pathetic, Zoisite. Remember: I am your instructor, not your owner- only groveling slaves crave the wrath of their masters," Kunzite said firmly.

"I wasn't thinking, Instructor Kunzite; I didn't mean to say such a stupid thing! Ugh..I don't know _what_ I'm saying." The boy's voice quavered. "I know I'm being a terrible student and a brilliant instructor like you doesn't deserve that at all." He raised his eyes to Kunzite's. "I am so sorry. I know I can get this; I swear I'll give it my all this time!" He took a deep breath and prepared to try the spell again.

A warm clamp closed over his shoulder.

"Consider this lesson postponed, Zoisite."

"But why?! I'm fine! I-"

The boy's shoulder was gently squeezed, hushing him; he felt his cheeks heat softly.

"We'll get back to it tomorrow. Just rest today."

"...Are you sure?.."

Kunzite's hand fell away from his student (and was instantly missed, unbeknownst to him).

"I am. You're tired, Zoisite; it isn't difficult to see that. Tomorrow, make sure your mind is at ease coming into the lesson, and if it's not, I will require you to tell me -as I am your instructor- whatever is troubling you."

"Okay. I'm so sorry."

Kunzite shook his head, disapproving of the apology. "I think you've done that enough; it isn't necessary."

That day, Zoisite had left the classroom with deep disappointment in himself and red cheeks. But after the surprising glimpse he'd had at the gentle, understanding side of his instructor, nothing could demolish the warm little flutters in his belly and heart.

 _Kunzite..I don't understand you at all. You're a different person during lessons. Why is that? Do you even realize it? You're such a mystery. And how can I not find that appealing? Hm. Did I really just admit that? Shame on you, Kunzite, wreaking havoc on this poor boy's feelings...Oh, well..._

Less than one week after that day, Zoisite's greatest fear came alive: he found himself earnestly battling tears and staring dejectedly at the flat, unchanged soil that should have been festively displaying little green sprouts, the beginnings of the young man's dream coming to be. He had known this outcome was a possibility all along, certainly, but for those crucial weeks he had forced himself to say over and over in his weighted mind that it wouldn't -couldn't- come to this.

So of course, now the hurt of it was especially dreadful.

He wondered why he'd even tried, why he'd thought Earth flowers could grow, even flourish, in a world without a sun.

"I thought my powers were enough..." he whispered. "How could I possibly be so stupid?" No matter how much light his hands could bring fourth, or how bright the tadbulbs were, none of it could ever mimic the sun's glorious nutritional rays. He knew he had to accept that- it made him wish he'd never had hope for the contrary, never created that pathetic joke of a garden.

He took a deep breath, told himself to gracefully accept that his dream would never be, that it was over now, but he was overcome by sobbing.

Why did he have to be so sensitive?

"You idiot!" he cried at himself. He teleported out of the garden; he didn't want to look at it. It could burn, for all he cared- maybe he would set the fire himself.

"The Earth realm can keep its stupid flowers!" he snarled, materializing in his bedroom. "The Dark Kingdom's beauty is superior!"

Empty words- he could never believe that.

The despairing fourth King slumped to the ground. His fury was evaporating, and he found a small fragment of hope: perhaps when the Dark Kingdom reigned supreme he would find a way to make flowers grow.

But honestly, was there any hope for the life of a flower in a world of nothing but shadows?


End file.
